


Feral

by Twelve (Dodici)



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Heaven's Arena Arc (Hunter X Hunter), M/M, it's just kids eating pizza, slice of life i guess, you could read it as friendship but Togashi would be disappointed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23631334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dodici/pseuds/Twelve
Summary: No one in their right mind would stick with a certified murderer, right?
Relationships: Gon Freecs & Killua Zoldyck, Gon Freecs/Killua Zoldyck
Comments: 22
Kudos: 212





	Feral

**Author's Note:**

> It's social distancing day number thirty-three and apparently I can't stop writing trivial missing moments no one was actually missing at all.  
> Feel free to yell at me for misuse of the English language. Take care <3

There’s an itch right on his elbow, too far inside the cast to be reached with any finger or pen or fork. Gon has been trying to meditate it away for twenty-four minutes. Twenty-four and a half. Twenty-five.

The mattress wobbles when he groans. He bounces on it like a dead starfish washed ashore. He kinda feels like a dead starfish or anything dead, really. Wing’s promise thread is still on his left hand, and that too is a bit like a constant itch. Boredom is going to squeeze him dry, while the most incredible sunset spreads itself in streaks of orange and pink over all the buildings shorter than the Arena.

“Killua,” he says, at the ceiling. “Killuaaa—”

The smell comes before any other giveaway, but it’s the absence of footsteps that Gon recognizes.

He springs up on the mattress and he’s already jumped down to open the door when Killua’s unmistakable cotton-white head is still at the other end of the hall. 

“Killua!” he calls. 

Killua lifts his gaze; it’s screaming _murder_.

“Sorry!” Gon yells, and he’s back inside his bed, sheet crumpled and ribs a bit sore—it’s fine. He won’t need four months to heal, he’s sure he’ll be okay by the end of the week.

Still, he doesn’t want to get yelled at—again. Killua can be such a nagger when it comes to Gon’s health, it’s really amazing. Gon can’t wait to introduce him to aunt Mito.

“You can shove your useless apologies up your—” 

“Killua!” Zushi censors him, burning hot for reasons that have little to do with the steaming box he’s carrying.

Everything smells like fried heaven and Gon’s stomach roars, itch forgotten.

“Is that pizza?” he asks, taken aback. “Hi, Zushi! Was this the surprise, Killua? Pizza?”

“Man, don’t look that excited, it’s just pizza. And Zushi,” Killua says, sizing Zushi up like he might be kind of a let-down. 

“It’s a party,” Zushi says, pupils bouncing to Gon from Killua. “You told us it was a party. That’s why master Wing let me skip evening practice!”

“Killua!” Gon yelps again, and who cares about the broken ribs and the broken arm and poor Zushi—poor Zushi. “You are throwing me a birthday party!”

“I’m not, it’s just pizza,” Killua rebuts, ears flushing pink. “It isn’t even that absurd shrimp pizza you like because people here don’t have your same ridiculous opinions about putting seafood everywhere, so…”

“But you argued with the pizza-maker for ten minutes until he agreed to at least put tuna on—”

“Zushi,” Killua says, aura as threatening as Hisoka’s. 

Gon opens the closest box, trying not to spill topping on his own bed. There’s tuna on his pizza; silly canned tuna spread around evenly.

“Killua, this is awesome!” he says, grinning, and Killua’s face gets even pinker. “Oh, and I’m really happy you came, Zushi!”

Zushi clears his voice. 

“Well, happy birthday, Gon! Master Wing wishes you a happy birthday too, but he chose to refrain from joining us because—”

“He felt old,” Killua interjects, and he’s already stuck a hot chip in his mouth. “Which we’ll become too, if we don’t cut back on all this blabbering.”

Gon is one year older already, so he doesn’t really mind the idle chat. He looks at the arrangement, Zushi choosing a chair for himself and his plain Margherita; Killua places the fries magnanimously in the middle, so they can share, and then he plops himself onto Gon's bed, mattress barely wobbling under his weight. That’s always so interesting—Gon can be stealthy but Killua is just on another level _constantly_.

“What are you smiling about?” he barks at him, but he’s cutting up his pizza for him so he isn’t really convincing. Gon’s grin widens.

“Thank you so much, this is the best birthday ever,” he says, and he’s really lucky if none of his pizza gets too badly mangled as the knife punctures both the box and the bed.

*

Gon’s broken bones are still the talk of the day even after whole weeks.

“He’s just like this, I swear,” Killua is recalling, with help from the slice of pizza he’s using as a visual aid. Gon isn’t sure which one is Hanzo between that and the onion ring. “He wouldn’t budge, so this poor guy had to give in or that match would have lasted days! Everybody was out of their mind.”

“And he broke your other arm?” Zushi asks, roosted on the edge of his seat. He looks more horrified than worried, and Gon doesn’t really know what to do apart from scratching at the nape of his neck with his good hand and laugh a bit. 

Killua shoots him a dirty look.

“The Hunter Exam sounds really hard,” Zushi says, pondering over his crusts—he's accumulating them on the side.

“It was fun!” Gon says, accepting another big chunk of pizza from Killua’s hands. 

“Don’t burn yourself, moron,” he warns him, even if it would be difficult, given that he’s also provided him with an army of napkins. “It wasn’t hard per se. Not that I should talk, since I didn’t pass,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“That wasn’t your fault,” Gon says, even if it means swallowing a scorching bite of mozzarella. And it isn’t even remotely as bothering as that new itch, a different kind than the one from his cast—he’s pretty sure that the only way to get rid of it would be to go break some more of Illumi’s bones right now.

“Of course it was,” Killua tells him, like he’s being silly. He just nibbles on onion rings, contented as a cat, legs crossed and face relaxed, and Gon—he isn’t sure, really. Speaking about Killua's family is like walking barefoot on the sand, you never know when you're going to step onto something sharp. Killua himself talks ill of them a lot, but at the same time it’s never for the real things—the ones that Gon isn’t even sure he understands fully, but they sure make him go blind with fury. 

“Well, I’m not surprised, really,” Zushi says, and sighs. “You two are incredibly strong, it’s just expected that you didn’t find the exam to be difficult.”

“You’re super strong, Zushi!” Gon tells him, to cheer him up. “Mister Wing always says it too!”

“But you would probably be crushed in a Hunter Exam,” Killua adds, serious and merciless.

Gon throws him a chip; he catches it on the fly and gulps it down with feline satisfaction.

“Don’t be mean, Killua, you don’t know that. Sorry, Zushi, have an onion ring, they’re awesome!”

“You bet, that’s the best pizza place around,” Killua tells, like he wasn’t being mean just one second ago. “I went there a lot, even if it was mostly because they had this old Wonder Mario’s console, so I could play.”

“What’s a Wonder Mario,” Gon asks, always in awe at how many things Killua seems to know so effortlessly.

“I was wondering,” Zushi says instead. “You said you’ve been here before, gotten up until the two-hundredth floor…”

“And he was only six! Isn’t that awesome?” Gon says, grabbing the coke that Killua is handing him. “Killua is really amazing!”

“What the hell, Gon!” he blurts. He doesn’t spill his own drink but he definitely gets all flustered.

Sometimes Gon does it on purpose, if he has to be honest. It’s just that then Killua growls at him and pushes him or pinches him on the shoulder and, well, _ouch_ —but it’s good. Having Killua so close it’s always good, thrilling like his first times with Kon, when he would still hiss at him and Gon had to be really, really careful not to look threatening. 

“It’s incredible,” Zushi says, still intrigued. “And you said that your brother practices nen?”

“Yes,” Killua answers. “And that Hisoka guy that Gon wants to punch, too. Actually, I think they know each other?” he asks, looking at Gon. 

“Yes, I’ve seen them chatting out of the hotel place back after the exam.”

Killua groans.

“Of course Illumi would have acquaintances as creepy as fucking Hisoka, I don’t know why I’m even surprised.”

“Well, they’re all a bit creepy at your house? We met your mother.”

“She does have the whole creepy aesthetic down, yes,” Killua says, squinting at the bedside lamp like it looks a bit too much like his mom’s frilly hat. “And you should see my dad’s office-thing. There are like, corpses as décor, it’s crazy. I never actually asked if those are embalmed remains of clients that pissed him off or… I’m joking,” he says, and his tone shifts in a flash; it becomes lighthearted, amused. Gon almost loses his grip on the coke. “Obviously. No one in their right mind would embalm people as décor. I mean, maybe crazy assassins?”

Gon knows that voice; he hasn't heard it for quite sometimes, now: that's Killua’s impression of a kid. Not that he isn't a kid—of course he is—but that's way more calculated; it's the voice he used to talk to the other applicants during the Hunter Exam, mostly adults, when he wanted to play dumb or downright lie.

“Well, I’m really happy you don’t have to be an assassin anymore,” Gon says. He's smiling at Killua, but then Zushi’s face breaks—like a sudden crack on a glass surface. Maybe it was just the plastic chair he’s sitting on or Killua’s neck when he turns to look at him. It lasts less than a fraction of a second, not even a blink, but it's there inside Killua’s eyes—something primal and sharp that looks a lot like fear, even if it doesn’t make any sense. And it’s still there when Killua laughs, bouncing once again on the mattress.

“Man, don’t tell it like that. People are going to get _scared_ ,” he says, like Gon was trying to be funny.

Zushi lets out a small, coughing, wheezing sound around a big chunk of cheese, still hanging in strings from his mouth.

“Wait, so they’re actually assassins? You weren’t joking before?” he asks, looking from Killua to Gon like he’s expecting to be ambushed by clowns ready to reveal the trick. 

“Why, would you be scared, Zushi?” Killua asks him, eyes big and voice full of sass.

“I—” Zushi starts, big eyebrows concerned; he stutters and shifts to search for Gon face, but he doesn’t know what he expects him to say.

When they both turn toward Killua, he's already bent in half, laughing.

“Oh, come on guys! This isn’t funny at all!” Zushi protests, and sighs hard.

“It’s true, though,” Gon says. 

Killua tilts his head, propped up on his elbows, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well, yes. But I’m not going to kill you, I promise,” he says, to Zushi’s face.

He stays there, mouth open, until he sighs, hand pressed on his forehead like they’ve managed to give him a headache. Killua laughs again, a bit too loud.

*

Zushi is the first one to enthusiastically accept to play cards as fast as Killua proposes it. Gon is pretty relieved too, for different reasons. 

Maybe he talked too much, he didn't want to make anybody uncomfortable. So he's pretty happy to try and play Thirty-one even if the first three matches are enough to push his brain in a math-induced downward spiral that ends up with Zushi having to double-check his points every single turn.

When Killua too gets tired of math, they switch the television on, press on mute and start dubbing a compelling thriller story over the first telenovela they can find. Zushi makes a wonderful old-lady impression and he gets extremely scandalized every time Killua comes up with a gory or just plain rude line that clashes perfectly with the setting. Gon laughs so hard that he’s sure his broken ribs are going to puncture at least one of his lungs.

“Go to sleep, dumbass,” Killua tells him, as fast as Zushi has excused himself for the night, thanking them both like he was invited to a formal event instead of a pretty silly indoor pizza party with cards.

They made Gon blow one remarkably big candle placed on top of a pile of cinnamon rolls that Killua must have bought at the bakery downtown—the ones Gon said tasted almost like Abe's most famous sweet buns. He should have known that Killua would have remembered that too.

Gon is pretty sure he never had that much fun during a birthday—having friends is so good. Having Killua is so good. 

He’s still in his room, picking up empty boxes and scattered cards. Gon itches to help him out but he’d probably just get mad if he tried to get up.

“Ehy, Killua,” he tries, though, still feeling a bit too giddy to go to sleep despite the pitch-black shade that's grown outside the window—it must be midnight already.

“You’re having a sugar rush? Go to sleep,” Killua says, but Gon knows he’s kidding—mostly.

“Is it a secret, you being an assassin?”

One of the boxes shifts. Killua catches it before it falls and then places the whole pile on the chair, eyes covered by his messy fringe.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just… I didn’t think it was a secret since you told me right away.”

“It’s not a secret,” Killua answers, fast. He shifts on his feet, back on the wall and scowl on his face. “It’s just… You know.”

Gon doesn’t know, really, even if Killua gestures vaguely in the air. He knows what Killua told him, that sometimes people don’t take him seriously when he tells them and that’s okay, but he always somehow thought it was… people. Generic people. Not Zushi, who’s been training with them for weeks now. Who’s a friend.

“I mean, you’ve seen Zushi’s face,” Killua says, like they’re thinking the exact same thing but from different perspectives. He crosses his arms. “It’s not exactly a respectable job, what if he tells Wing and he decides that he doesn’t want to train me anymore? Or you, by extension, since you’re associated with me and—”

“I’m sure mister Wing would never! And, anyway, if he doesn’t want to train us then we’ll just have to search for another teacher, that’s all,” Gon says, and feels pretty much relieved, to be honest: it’s just that simple. Sometimes Killua really worries for the silliest things.

“Jeez, do you ever listen to yourself?” he rebuts, and presses the nape of his neck on the wall like he’s searching for help from the ceiling because he can’t fight Gon’s simple-mindedness all alone. “You’re way too naïve.”

“I’m not, it is simple!” Gon says. “I want to train with you, if mister Wing won’t train us both then we’ll find someone who will.”

Killua is looking at him, but his frown is way more puzzled than annoyed now, like he’s trying really hard to crack whatever code is inside Gon’s head. And it’s not a code, it’s just so obvious to him; from the day they decided to go and take Killua away from his family to this exact point—Killua training with him and organizing his birthday, like it was just how stuff should have worked from the very beginning. Like this is what they’re supposed to do, _to be_ forever—Gon’s conviction just grew so much that now he really doesn’t know where he would be without Killua. He would have never thought of coming here to Heavens Arena, for starters. Honestly, he would have came out of the Hunter Exam with a useless license and no clue on what to do before going to search for Hisoka in Yorknew city six month from there.

“Well, find a teacher like that would be a fucking difficult task, you know?” Killua tells him; he’s plopped once again on Gon’s bed, always too light and quite to make the mattress move. 

“Why though,” Gon says. “You aren’t an assassin anymore, so it shouldn’t even be a problem.”

Killua blinks and then snorts really hard from his nose. He’s still laughing, he stops only because Gon makes a point of being extremely serious. Killua sighs then, both bitter and wistful, head tilted to the side to look at Gon’s face like framing it from a slightly different angle would help him understand. Or make Gon understand, maybe.

“You know I wasn’t just training to become an assassin, right?” Killua says, eyes almost sea green under the yellow-ish light of the hotel room, legs dangling from the bed. “I used to have actual jobs, I’ve killed people. Never kept tab, but it was… a lot.”

“Yes, I know,” Gon says, looking at him straight in the eyes.

Killua’s frown deepens.

“I don’t think you do,” he answers back. “Sometimes you’re just—” His shoulders fall down. Gon watches his hand flail at him, like he’s trying to shoo a persistent fly. “Jeez, okay right, you win! No need to pull a Gon on me!”

Gon blinks, twice.

“A what?”

Killua growls like a feisty cat, and falls back down on the mattress. This time it wavers under his weight even if Killua’s face looks way lighter in contrast.

“A Gon, _Gon_ ” he says, in a sigh so deep and so, so relieved. “When you look at people that way, with those stupid round eyes of yours and… You know, then they just have to budge because there’s no other way.”

“Oh,” Gon says and he’s giggling. “Well, that’s because I’m right, Killua!”

Killua throws one hand on his face—his protest sounds more like a groan of abject misery. The arm slides down, his eyes are bright and maybe he’s even a bit flushed when he looks up from that weird angle, head nestled right beside Gon’s legs.

“You’re impossible,” he says, and he doesn’t sound angry at all.

Gon grins.

“Is it a good kind of impossible?”

Killua doesn’t answer, he whines about his terrible fate, being stuck with such an absurd guy and still, Gon can hear it in the corner of his mouth, turned upward. He can hear the yes—yes, you are.


End file.
